


Hélène, Her Guests and the Great Monopoly Game of 1812

by Five



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Gen, Monopoly (Board Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 12:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five/pseuds/Five
Summary: Monopoly at Hélène Bezukhova's game night is a yearly tradition of cheating, lying and little aluminum dogs. (Written at two in the morning after a sleep deprived conversation with my girlfriend. Enjoy.)





	Hélène, Her Guests and the Great Monopoly Game of 1812

         Countess Hélène Bezukhova’s Annual Game Night was a grand affair. Much to her husband’s inconsequential dismay, no expense was spared in making the event a success. She had her cook prepare a wide array of food and lay it out beautifully across the long and polished table she had moved into the living room. Every friend or acquaintance she had was invited, and most all of them were to attend. They were spread and gathered around card tables, end tables and even one dresser, cleverly turned on its back to serve as an extra table. The room was filled with merriment and the wine-soaked cheers of winners. The very center of the night was the oldest Kuragin tradition: a cutthroat game of monopoly.

         The pieces were distributed quickly: Hélène as usual claimed the top hat. The metal terrier went to Natasha Rostova, the battleship to Andrei Bolkonsky. Fedya Dolokhov reached out and snatched up the wheelbarrow and naturally ceded the car to Balaga. Happily, Sonya selected the thimble, exclaiming that as it was just a bit too small for an actual thimble, you could slide it on as a hat for your finger.

         At one point Marya Dmitrievna grabbed the shoe, a piece she had assumed would cause little conflict.  
         “That piece is-” Anatole halted himself, realizing how childish he risked sounding. He bit his lip. “Damn it, that piece is mine. My name is on it.”  
         Hélène’s eyes slid smoothly over to him, “That token is Anatole’s token. He's used it every year since he was thirteen. He wrote his name on the bottom and thought we wouldn't mind.” His attachment to the boot was perceived, by the whole group as odd without explanation, with the exception of Dolokhov who had been told, time after time, without being asked, of Anatole’s personal interests _aux pieds des femmes_. Hélène had worked it out in her own and raised no question.  
         “Alright. You take it.” Marya said.  
         Mary Bolkonsky, during this debate, quietly took the iron. With no tokens left, Marya pulled a coin from her purse and placed it on the table in place of a token. In that moment, it seemed quite fortunate to Pierre that he should not have to play. As people began to draw coins from their purses, or bottlecaps from their drinks, fear rose in him as the realization sparked that he might still be forced into playing.  
         “Quite unfortunate.” Remarked Pierre, noticing no tokens were left. He began rising from his seat. “I suppose I'll have to sit this one out, there's nothing left for me.”  
         “Don't leave so quickly, you can have my piece if you'd like,” Offered Prince Andrei.  
         “No, really, it’s not trouble to me. I have plenty of reading to do yet, and I-”  
         “Pierre, don’t worry yourself so much,” Hélène reached down and undid the top button of her dress, before using her long, manicured nails to slice through the thread. She handed him the button, smiling, “you can use this.”  
         Pierre closed his hand around the button and nodded in thanks, giving a smile just as real as his wife’s.  
“Great, great. I guess that means I can play.” He sat down. He was the only man in the room whose eyes did not stay focused on the place where that button used to lie.

         Hélène took the first turn and as the game began its way around the board, she began to buy up as much property as she could it. It was quickly apparent that if one did not take the game seriously, they would quickly fall behind. Balaga was the first to fall to bankruptcy- his seat at the table was removed, each other player growing tighter and tighter around the table.  
It had become tradition to fill the room with trash talk. Anatole spoke brashly, fearlessly and with the ease of someone with no cares at all, and Dolokhov with the deepest vulgarities a soldier of many years could produce. Andrei, having known these people all his life was able to select the perfect thing to say that would latch to each player’s biggest insecurity. There of course those who ventured so far as to play dirty.  
         “That house of yours is new, Anatole Vassilyevich.” Marya Dmitrievna said, leaning towards the board to touch the top of one of the two houses set down on pacific avenue.  
         “It’s not. I purchased it some time ago.”  
         “Did you?”  
         “What,” Sonya drawled, “Did you steal a house for every girl who’s ever genuinely enjoyed your company?”  
Under the table, Sonya held out an open palm for Marya to high-five beyond Natasha’s view. Prince Andrei leaned in and high-fived the other. While Anatole continued contesting his stolen house, capturing everyone’s attention, Pierre found himself an opportunity to slip out of the room.  
         "I thought someone else went after Natasha." Sonya said, perplexed. She turned to the rest of the table and the empty chair over which Pierre's jacket hung  
         "I thought it was Pierre's turn. Wasn't he here?" Anatole remarked, leaning back in his chair. Half the room shrugged and Sonya closed her hand around the die, preparing to take a roll.  
         "Come on, wait." Andrey said, "Pierre probably went to the bathroom or something. Give him a moment."  
         "He certainly didn't say where he was going. I don't think all of you should have to wait; the game comes first."  
         "No, no, no one is in the bathroom or we would have heard the door close. Anyways I think it's been a while."  
         "Maybe the old man fell in. Maybe he's dead. Someone should look for him." Anatole said, then added, "I won't, though. I'm not going in there."  
Sick of deliberation, Sonya put down the die and called for Natasha to follow. As they scoured the house, Pierre staggered in and down into his seat, holding half a bottle of wine in his hand. "Was it my turn?"  
         It was an hour and the second half of a bottle of wine before Pierre went bankrupt, and then Natasha quickly followed. The game went on through the night, and grew with rapid intensity. The other guests of game night filtered out, leaving cards strewn on tables and half empty glasses in their wakes.  
         

         “Destroyed!” Anatole cried as Hélène landed on Pacific Avenue (a property on which he had now rightfully developed.) “And then there were two.”  
Hélène let out a horrid, screeching cry and stood from the table, gliding like a malicious spirit out of the room. Dolokhov followed. Had Pierre not retired to his room already, he perhaps might have followed too.

         Mary Bolkonskaya looked Anatole Kuragin dead on, her bright eyes set with determination. It was not in her spirit to be fierce. But there was a hope in her, that for once, she would win something. She dropped her gaze down to the board and pursed her lips, behind them uttering a silent prayer. She cupped her hands around the die and began shaking them. Beside her, Andrei took in a breath and leaned in. When she turned to face him, for just a moment before the die was cast, she realized the whole room was pulled tight around the board, and it seemed to her that perhaps they were rooting for her. She threw the die. Eyes half closed, she counted around the board. Perfect. She handed the die to Anatole. He tossed it, feigning ease, high into the air and caught it. It landed in his palm, with a single dot facing up at him. He swallowed hard and moved the silver boot forward one space.

  
         Park Place. Mary’s property. He shilled out the last of his money, placing it in Mary’s small white hands. For the first time she could remember, Mary had won something. She smiled broadly, the warmth and radiance of her smile outshining the plainness of her face. She was gleaming. Tonight, she would go home and go to bed, and in the morning, she would bake a cake for herself, and her, Andrei, Papa and Nikolushka could all rejoice together. She looked back again at Andrei- it had really happened. A hint of a smile showed on his face.  
         Without warning, Kuragin let from his seat and knocked the board from the table, paper bills and silver tokens spraying over onto the floor. Mary recoiled, dropping her colorful money on the floor. She burst into tears, shaking in fear and retreated into the corner.  
         “That was not a fair game,” Anatole muttered, “were it a fair game-- were it a fair game I’d not have lost!”  
And as he threw his hands in the air, a village’s worth of tiny green houses spilled from his sleeve.


End file.
